The Legion upgrade did not come without caveats.
<b>Error! Current Legion structure incompatible with Auxilliary functions.</b>
<b>Error! Current Century size incompatible with Command Specialization!</b>
<b>First Legion, First Cohort, First Century is unable to perform military options until retrained.</b>
And so John was forced to restructure his Legion into something that was not quite as useful to him now, but would be understandably necessary later. The system provided guidelines, but in the end the issue was too many officers, not enough soldiers. Also slightly disturbing was the presence of a slave/servant counter, but he would save that for later. He lead with the officers.
A Century was expected to have 105 men and women. 5 Officers, 80 Soldiers, 20 Slaves/Servants. John hadn’t realized, but without Servants, the Legionnaires had just been rotating duties and seemed to be doing fine, but John knew there was times when they would have no time for things like laundry, cooking meals, repairing socks, and the like. A problem to be solved later.
He also learned about a complete Legion structure and balked. He’d heard of Roman Legions, but for some reason he’d never really thought about the actual numbers.105 people in each Century times six Centuries per Cohort meant he would need 630 soldiers to create a functional army rather than just single units.
Then, once he had his cohort, he only had to make 8 more of them to make his Legion. Well, those, and the First Cohort which was somehow separate and needed <i>five double-strength Centuries</i>. So just under 7000 troops, around a thousand of which would be officers. When all was said and done, the Legion would have 59 Centurions, just like he was now.
Each Century needed a Centurion, an Optio, a Tesserarius, a Signifer, and a Cornicen. Centurion to lead the Century, Optio to be his right hand, Tesserarius to keep the peace and dole out punishments, Signifer to bear the colours and flags, and Cornicen to perform reserve-Optio duties and horns. John grumbled when he realized that they didn’t have flags, colours, or horns. They didn’t even have a coat of arms to work with.
First, he needed to dissolve his current Optio system, which was unfortunate for those who had made the cut. Jack was named as his only Optio, losing the Primus suffix, whereas the rest of them would become Decanus - Contubernium leaders. They were still expected to fight in rank with their squads, as John had taken to calling them in short.
Speaking of other roles, he had a few that he didn’t know needed filling. The expanded Legion dialogue showed him a lot of things, but this was one of the glaring incompatibility errors. He placed Hailey in the role of Signifer, as her blonde hair made her a rarity in the sea of brown and black and she would be easily spotted. The addition came with the responsibility of coming up with a set of visual codes that could be used to command his orders across the battlefield, though he told her to hold off on the actual flag.
Next, he needed a Tesserarius, or his own guard captain. Someone who would police the troops, ensure he wasn’t put into the situation where he thought he’d been sending his elites to the front, not the Seventh line. Not Johann’s line.
The former Optio had been absolutely gutted by the loss of his men, and would require a day or two to come to terms with his loss. Something else he needed to address - where was the line between cruelty and the pursuit of efficiency? He found it tragically ironic, but placed Johanns in the position. The man would strive to ensure that what happened to him did not happen to anyone else. Jack would make sure of it.
He had more positions to fill, so he moved on listlessly through the camp. He could assign his Immunes, or his camp specialists. He could assign up to four, though only one was needed. Either an Engineer, a Mage, a Medic, or a Scout. It was as simple as finding the most senior Medicus and then telling Miriam to send over whoever showed the most magical proficiency. She showed some concern at his state, but was stopped from pressing the issue by Johann, who John just noticed had been following him around the camp.
How much easier it would be with his own friends. Sarah would be medic, of course, while George was the scout and Miri the mage. Mitchell could engineer, John supposed, though with a twist in his gut realized he himself would likely serve better as engineer given his Carpenter Apprentice class.
Ah well. He had what he had. Soon the assignments would be done and he could choose an Auxilliary, though even then he had no idea if they would show up just like the Legionnaires did or if he would need to actually go recruit them. Either way, he returned to his tent to rest.
Even though folding the Second into the First was necessary - he needed a double-strength Century, after all, so he might as well start now - he still felt like he’d just lost half of his troops.
<hr>
Mitchell looked upon the camp''s walls with a frown. There were bodies outside the gates, though he saw Legionnaires dragging their own dead away. The tree line looked broken. The soldiers lacked the determined set to their step they’d had when they set out.
There had been a battle, and it had not gone well.
He frowned. That would disrupt his plan. Not nullify it - and even if it did, a long night of contingency planning had given him backups to fall on - but it was still much less than ideal. Behind him, the fifty or so members of the former Second Century looked upon the battlefield with horror. For Mitchell, he’d seen worse. He’d caused worse.
Marching up to the camp’s entrance, a pair of Legionnaires briefly stopped him, just long enough to send for the Centurion, then one of the guards split off and escorted him to the center where a mud-stained tent flapped lazily in what breeze could be found. The Second Century quickly dispersed among the camo, eager for tales of the obvious carnage, but Mitchell felt the buzz of the conversation outside fade as he stepped through the tents flaps. He felt his eyebrows rise in impressed surprise. Miriam was really coming along with her enchanting.
John sat at a crude wooden desk, which itself was Mitchell’s first clue that something was wrong. He was typically the type of man to stand over or lean on a desk, not sit there, slumped in his seat. His armour was bloody and scuffed, his helmet’s horsehair mohawk bent but slowly straightening itself out.
The man looked like someone had killed his wife and ate his dog right in front of his eyes.
“John.”
The man in question flinched.
“<i>John.”</i> Mitchell repeated, stressing the word.
“What.” John spat out. “I’m busy.”
Mitchell blinked. “No, you aren’t.”
John’s head whipped up in a furious scowl, until he realized who it was. Then the scowl faded to a frown. “Come to gawk at the losers?”
Mitchell blinked again. “Ohhhh no. You’re not doing this again. Let me guess, you guys had a battle with someone - and I know it’s the Raccan’s, due to the Clan Map, but let’s just call them someone for now. You had a battle, you gave your orders, and people died. Walk me through it, though, so I can explain exactly why you’re being stupid, and we can move on with our crazy lives.”
John hissed, a very uncharacteristic sound from him. “Oh fuck off Mitchell. I don’t care whether I did things perfectly or not, and I’m damn sure you couldn’t have done better.”
Mitchell changed tracks, internally wincing but steeling himself for what was to come. “You wanna bet? You really think you’re doing better than I could? Prove it, <i>buddy.</i>”
John leaped to his feet. “What, you want to fight me? Right here, right now?”
Mitchell grinned internally. Lighting the fire had been the risky part. Now he just had to ensure it burned in the right direction.
“Me? No. I’d kick your ass. How about a training exercise? Give me a couple lines of your guys, you take a couple, and we’ll do a capture the flag or something. Hell, give me the lines from the Second, they haven’t been trained yet anyways.” Mitchell flippantly waved a hand. “You’ll probably need the handicap to win, right?”
John slowly stood, his face lowered and dark. “To be clear, is this an order from my Patriarch, or is this a request from a man once my friend?”
Mitchell felt a deep stab in his heart, one no armour could parry. The pain did not reach his features. “Once?” He challenged.
John raised his head to reveal his glare, though the mischievous glint in his eye betrayed his true emotion. “Of course. I wouldn’t fight a friend. I would, however, crush any enemy. Give me three lines of the Second. You can have a line of my First… no, make that two lines of the First, but you can’t take my veteran squad. They need to observe.”
Mitchell smiled, though echoes of John’s barb still lingered. “Deal. Let’s make it tomorrow morning, alright?”
John let out a deep breath. “Sure. Thanks, by the way.”
Mitchell waved a hand, dismissing it. “Don’t mention it. Seriously though, what happened?”
John sighed, and gestured towards his map. A crude outline of the ringed fortification was scribbled on rough material, with entrances at each cardinal direction. “They came from the East first, and we watched. Gradually they just.. Filled the area around the Fort with their soldiers. Mostly skirmishers, like with the Founding Siege, but then Brutes started getting sprinkled in. With no shamans, we had the advantage and sallied out the Eastern gate. I sent two lines, to the North and South, to flank and envelop the enemy.”
Mitchell nodded. “Hammer and Anvil. So where did it go wrong?”
“I pushed out the East with a line of men, and we set our line there-”
“So one line with you, two each to the north and south, and the other five were…”
John’s eyes narrowed. “Resting for the night shift.”
Mitchell nodded. “Alright, continue.”
“We set our line there and held them back. The southern force made it around and were deploying javelins masterfully, but the north was delayed. We routed the Raccans with our three lines, but when I made it to the north, only two survived. Commandos tunneled close and popped up behind them. Did a real number on Jack, but he’ll survive.”
Mitchell interrupted again. “Why did you sally out? Are you guys already out of food or something?”
“No, but we were slowly getting surrounded. If we had waited too long, we wouldn’t have been able to flank.”
Mitchell scoffed. “Are you sure about that? Because if you’d waited a day, I would have been here with the Second and we could easily have encircled them. A Fort makes a much better anvil than 10 men. Beyond that, flanking isn’t the only possible tactic you could use. Did you consider a massed push out the front to split their forces in two? Either way, you sallied out. Continue.”
“You brought the Second back already? They were supposed to gain experience in… well, it doesn’t matter now. I had to fold the two together. My first century needs to be double-sized, just like the first Cohort.”
Mitchell nodded. “I mean, it makes sense. Command companies and all that. Still applied in modern militaries from what I remember reading online. Either way, you should be all filled up in a couple more days. I’m dedicating it all to the military until you’re finally all set. Dalton says we get bonuses for a properly functioning military so I want to get you there as soon as possible.”
“All set?”
Mitchell nodded. “Yea. We need a force for defense, and a force for offence. Which means I want you to build up the Second Century once the first gets its last reinforcements, and maybe even a Third if we’re going to have to fight on two fronts. I’ll work on making sure Old Mill Town can support that much - speaking of, we brought a cart full of supplies, but it’s starting to drain from the treasury. We’ll need to expand the walls soon, but for that we need stone, so don’t worry about that just yet. For now, keep going on the battle.”
John shook his head, parsing the news. “Alright uhm.. So we sallied out, which in hindsight was probably a bad idea but we didn’t have enough javelins to kill them all from the Fort so we had to.”
Mitchell waved a hand in the air in a ‘maybe’ gesture. “I mean, Ezekiel’s here, right? Same with Miriam.”
John groaned. “Let me rephrase then - there was no way for the Legion to engage safely from the Fort, so we sallied out. If they’d helped us, the Legion wouldn’t have been legitimized.”
“Then save it!” Mitchell exploded, making the Centurion flinch at the abruptness. “You think that blooding your troops is more important than having them <i>live?! </i>You could have called for help! You could have asked <i>here </i>for help! You could have done literally anything that wasn’t deciding to fix the problem alone-”
“You’re one to fucking talk, Mitch!” John responded in kind. “Who dragged my <i>wife </i>out into a cave full of monsters?!”
Mitchell’s gaze turned cold. “You want to make this personal? You’re being reprimanded for your wanton waste of our god-damned citizens, John. Not because I think you need some pep talk. Not because I’m thinking I could do it better. I won’t say you killed them, because this is war and people are going to die. But from what you tell me, you didn’t exactly put much effort into preserving them.” Mitchell stood, his class cuirass seeming cold and unyielding. “You should think about that. I can’t be the only one to notice that your soldiers seem very down, which is absolute horseshit for a military force on the front lines. It’s like you’re asking the Raccans to attack and beat you through morale loss. Figure it out.”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
John’s mind was scrambling, trying to find the right word or combination of words to <i>hurt </i>him, to cause him the pain and the guilt that he himself felt, when Mitchell stood and turned to go. Though, in his silence, he did hear a muttered phrase that ground his search to a halt.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
John fought internally for a minute as the Page left, before eventually letting out a groan and picking up a rag to angrily begin polishing his armour from yesterday’s grime. He was unsure if it was just Mitchell or some way the System translated Charisma, but that man infuriated him as greatly as he motivated.
He had a terrible habit of being right. John needed to prepare for the next attack.
<hr>
Lunch came and went in a disorganized, fend-for-yourself type of way, and soon Mitchell found himself back at the gates, ready to head back to Old Mill Town and start preparing his diplomatic approach to the Khanclave. Miriam, Ezekiel, and as expected Legionnaire Caleb were there as well, ready to join him on his trip.
Or, so he thought.
Miriam shrugged helplessly. “It’ll only be for a day or two. Aleisha’s going to make them a few wands, and I think that I should be able to teach a few of the newer recruits a basic spell or two.”
Ezekiel simply wasn’t there, but a quick look-around had him located amidst a small group of new recruits that were checking out his bow.
Mitchell nodded, his throat tight. “Very well. I suppose I’ll see you in a few days then?”
Miriam scoffed. “Acting like I’m going to Europe or something…”
Mitchell pulled her into an embrace. “Anywhere that isn’t by my side may as well be the other end of the earth.”
“Dramatic.” She mumbled, but even so she squeezed him tightly. “Be safe, please?”
Mitchell felt his frustration deflate. “Of course I will, my love.”
She pulled back, taking a moment to catch and hold his eye. “When this is over, I still want us to get married.”
Mitchell almost flinched. He hadn’t realized it was something Miriam was thinking about - with all that’d happened, their engagement fell to the back of his mind. He immediately realized how unfair that was. “Of course.” He repeated. “Who says things need to be over, though? I say we throw a wedding to celebrate when we win this tutorial.”
Miriam hit his chest lightly. “Goofball. We’re going to have to find our families first.”
Mitchell’s burgeoning good mood evaporated like mist in the morning light. Thoughts of his less-than-mobile mother enduring the hardships they’d gone through made him want to scream and rage and cry and kill and-
Soft lips met his own, chapped and dry, snapping him from his thoughts. After a moment, they parted. Miriam looked up at him with a small, sly grin. “Now, go do your city building thing. I’ve noticed you haven’t bothered making a chocolatier or florist - either would be a nice coming home present.”
Mitchell nodded, his mind already turning to the task. Chocolate was a tropical crop, from what he recalled before so that was likely to be impossible for them, but florists? Boutiques? Definitely within the range of possibility but how much would it actually help Old Mill Town? The boutiques would likely need suppliers, which meant non-essential crafters…
Miriam laughed. “Get going, love. I can tell you’re already thinking about the town.”
Mitchell gave her a grateful, half-attentive nod, and set out with the Legion’s messenger to return home. Miriam held her smile until they passed into the forest, then let it drop and turned her head towards the north where a tall cliff emerged from the soil, stretching at least a hundred meters up. It was difficult to see over the treeline, but as the forest was cut back, the cliffs became more visible. Good, that meant she wouldn’t have to go as far.
<b>In the Giant’s Shadow (Quest Type: Personal)</b>
<b>Your settlement is within range of a terrible arcane contraption hidden in the escarpment, and will be irrevocably changed by its activation. Unfortunately, a careless creature has activated it. In 5 days, the land beneath will no longer harbour carbon-based life.</b>
<b>Objectives:</b>
<b>Protect your faction</b>
<b>(optional) Stop the arcane process</b>
<b>(optional) Organize and execute an evacuation</b>
<b>(optional) Defeat the Anchorbeasts</b>
<b>Restrictions:</b>
<b>3:23:18 remaining</b>
<b>Party functions disabled.</b>
<b>Rewards: </b>
<b>1x Arcanists Workshop (outpost)</b>
<b>10x C-coins</b>
<b>Class Potential Upgrade</b>
<b>180,000 XP</b>
<b>1x Arcanists Robes (Rare)</b>
<b>Failure:</b>
<b>Dissolution of Old Mill Town and Branch Clan</b>
<b>Possible death</b>
<b>Possible imprisonment</b>
<b>Possible enslavement</b>
This new quest had come to her the day before, after teaching her apprentices the basic magic dart spell she’d started with and could now cast effectively indefinitely. Beyond the implications (such as the System officially recognizing their group as the Branch clan, as Mitchell had joked many nights ago) the experience should be enough to get her past level 45 and all the way to 48, or two levels short of her classes ultimate skill and seven short of her first skill evolution, as per Dalton.
Beyond that, the rewarded outpost was a D-Level building when she’d asked the advisor, one that was specific for spell-creating classes. Then the money: 100 F-coins to an E-coin, then 100 E-coins in each D-coin, then 100 D-coins to a C-coin. If F-coins were the equivalent of their dollars, this quest would pay out around 10 million. That was more money than their settlement had seen in its entire history.
Beyond <i>that, </i>some new robes would be nice, and she knew that having her class potential increase while already having a rare class would mean the offerings would be much better when it came time for E-rank. Internally, she marvelled: It had never been a question to her of whether she <i>would </i>reach the next rank..
In all, she couldn’t afford to reject this quest, even without looking at the Penalties.
Now, all she had to do was find out where she was supposed to go. All she knew was that this contraption was within range of their village, but was also within the cliffs of the escarpment. Yet, she had to do this alone. There was nothing stopping her from tailing along with scouting groups, though. She could assist them while performing her own search.
It was only efficient. She only had around four days left.
<hr>
<b>Three days until quest end</b>
The First Century was approaching 200 men, which was a very good thing in John’s eyes, and a very bad thing in Mitchell and Kyla’s.
“What do you want me to do about it? I can’t just summon food from midair!” Kyla protested.
“Administrate!” Mitchell answered, frustrated. “You knew we had more men coming, you knew we had the manpower to make more farms, so why didn’t you?!”
Kyla looked at him incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She waved around the coopted bedroom Mitchell used as an office. It was absolutely covered in parchments. “This shit just pops out of the air! You’re lucky I even managed to organize it all for you, and now you want me to do your job too? Fuck off!”
Mitchell growled. “Does this look organized to you?”
Kyla scoffed again, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m here to administrate, not build you a fuckin’ filing cabinet. Besides, <i>where is all of this paper coming from?!</i> It’s not cheap to buy from the Store! <i>Dalton!</i>”
The advisor poked his head in the door, having slipped out when the two began arguing. A floppy, bright blue and red hat sat on his head. “Yes, Administrator?”
“Where the hell is all this paper coming from?!”
“The Clan’s administrative settings have been set to source paper from our local market for internal reports, Administrator.” Dalton replied easily. “Was this not intended?”
Mitchell’s eyes flared. “Tommen. Bring him to me immediately.” He ordered.
Dalton winced. “That’s not really something I can d-”
“Either go bring me Tommen, or go get John so he can tell you why it’s absolutely stupid to have the Legion monopolize communications. We aren’t doing that.”
“You should really have guards.”
Kyla let out a huff of frustration. “Fine! Go laze in your fuckin’ room. I’ll get him.”
Not two minutes later, Kyla stormed back into the office, dragging our merchant by the scruff of his fine robes. Mitchell’s eyes narrowed - nobody had fine clothing in the Clan. The Warrior-Administrator threw him into the sole empty chair so hard the furniture rocked and almost fell over before she righted it.
“P-Patriarch! What is the meaning of this? I have done no-”
“Do you think we’re stupid?” Mitchell asked, his face not betraying his emotion. Tommen’s face paled, and a thin sheen of sweat was visible in the paltry light coming in from outside.
“No, illustrious Patriarch! No, your wisdom is unmatched, your cunning abov-”
“Now he lies.” Mitchell muttered, disappointed. “Tommen. You recall your entry to this Clan. Remind me - what is your ranking?”
Tommen blinked. “Erm… I am a Merchant, Patria-”
Mitchell slammed his hands on the desk, his fists breaking through the wood. “You are an <i>inner member </i>of the clan. Outside of the Core, you <i>are </i>the clan. You were the very first one we inducted. You may very well be the first one we <i>banish. </i>Now explain to me why my office is full of paper, and why I’m told we’re <i>buying it off of you</i>.” Mitchell pried his hand back out of the desk, internally even more upset he would need to now request a new desk from John.
Tommen blinked. “I… erm…”
Kyla snorted. “You have Charisma out the asshole, Tommen. Don’t stammer like you can’t find your words.”
Tommen raised an eyebrow at her, sighing before collecting himself and brushing off his clothing. “Fine. Though you should know that acting is also a skill that falls under Charisma.”
She shrugged. “I’ve got good Instinct. Now talk.”
Tommen sighed. “Very well. As the Market Manager, I have access to various choices. Things like which types of food to import when you ask for a feast, which market to collect steel or stone from to ensure we get the best quality for our coin, when to sell various goods to maximize profit, and other things. For some reason, there was a request for administrative resources from the Clan house, and paper was the ideal option.”
Mitchell frowned. “So how much have we spent on paper?”
Tommen grinned. “See, that’s the thing! We’ve actually made around 80 F-coins so far, and we just started yesterday.”
That did explain the sudden influx of paper coming out of nowhere, seemingly today. “Explain yourself.”
Tommen made to stand before Kyla’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Sorry, just got excited. See, a couple days ago I heard some of your Aspirants having a discussion while perusing their food options - and can I just say, Patriarch, that your people really do believe in the system of this place, so you may want to have some more internal movement between the clan’s tiers of citizen-”
Mitchell knocked lightly on an undamaged part of his table. “The paper, Tommen.”
“I’m getting to it!” He exclaimed with an affronted look. “So there I am, as an <i>inner member</i>, thinking to myself ‘Hey, Tommen, ol’ Tommy boy, these guys have done just swell by you, why not pay them back somehow?’ Well wouldn’t you know it - and I’m genuinely uncertain of if you know it or not - but one of the Aspirants showed an aspiration - pun intended - towards becoming a tailor! The class outfits are alright, but as you can imagine you wouldn’t want to walk around in armour on your days off, would you?”
“Yes.” Mitchell responded easily. “I would.”
Tommen faltered. “Er.. Well, alright, but most people don’t. The issue is, materials for clothing are <i>expensive </i>on the Store. So I figured I couldn’t waste our money on getting that Aspirant a bunch of cloth to ruin while trying to get a class.” He paused expectantly.
Mitchell raised a brow. “Good decision. Continue.”
Tommen preened under the compliment. “Well, naturally I put my mind to task, and with some help from your advisor, discovered that the Aspirant - his name is Theodore, by the way - didn’t need to use the materials, just the tools. So, I bought him a pair of fabric shears from my own money and agreed to sell off anything he made to the people in town. From there, we discovered that we could buy rolls of uncut paper, and Theodore practiced with his shears on them, netting him the class. Thorn needed paper, as a bookbinder is relatively useless without materials, so the lion’s share went to him at the start, and we sold off the rest to recoup the costs of the paper rolls. Though, we couldn’t sell it fast enough, and we now have a stock. Then, I was given a quest to source a method of record-keeping, which immediately completed itself because I had a stock of paper I could supply. That was yesterday.”
Mitchell frowned, unable to really find anywhere that Tommen had overstepped his role. “In the future, please come to us when you receive quests that pertain to the settlement. Specifically to Kyla. Off the top of my head, were you aware paper could be used for construction? Armour?”
Tommen blinked owlishly. “For armour? Patriarch, paper is much too weak to provide any protection.”
“One sheet, sure. Three sheets, yep. Twenty sheets fused together with sap or resin? I bet it could turn a blade.” Mitchell responded.
Tommen almost <i>bounced</i>. “Genius! The crafters could improve the quality of the resin or sap, then improve the quality of the paper armour, then yet again improve it in the process of attaching it to a harness! If all goes well, you could start making E-grade armour!”
Dalton finally spoke up. “Yes, that is a benefit to goods that require multiple crafters. Though, with the current levels of the crafters in town, I doubt any more than 1 in a million sets of paper armour would be E grade. As you know, the item tiers are many. I imagine your paper armour concept warrants an Uncommon rank, simply because it’s not something I’ve heard of before. With three crafters working on each item - one for the paper, one for the framing, one for the harnessing - your maximum possible increase in ranking is 6, though 3 is more likely.”
“Three should be more than enough, shouldn’t it?” Mitchell asked, confused. “You told me with the farms that it went from Low Quality to Exemplary.”
Dalton blinked. “My mistake. That scale applies to consumables such as potions, foods, arrows and bolts, things that are ‘used’ rather than ‘equipped’. The equipment tiers are different and go from Basic - which isn’t necessarily a bad tier, just applies to things like basic bows, sharpened sticks for spears, basic padded armour, stuff like that. Then it goes Common, Uncommon, Rare, Very Rare, Mythic, Legendary, and then the side-tiers of Divine and Unique. So for your paper armour, it would start at Uncommon. Each crafter has a 1% chance per level to raise the quality of the produced item, though that’s for level one items. It’s more likely if the crafter has outgrown the schematic - a C-grade blacksmith could make Rare-tier F-grade swords 100% of the time.”
Mitchell nodded, still processing. “Alright. So say our tailor cuts the paper and makes it Uncommon.”
“Unlikely. Paper starts as a Basic good. It’s more likely to become Common, or likely just stay the same.”
“Please tell me there’s at least benefits to this beyond sale price.” Kyla muttered as her hands massaged her temples.
“Of course! Each quality tier will increase the inherent properties of the item by roughly five percent. If a common iron breastplate provided 10 armour, then a Rare one would provide 11. A Mythical would provide 12. Divine or unique would be <i>incredibly </i>unlikely for an F-grade item, but if it did, the effects would diverge from the purpose of the item - for example, one of my cousins had a Unique gauntlet. While the armour was not any better than other armour of the class in terms of protection, the gauntlet allowed him to grab and affect things at a distance. He built his fighting style around it, using spear and flail with speed and range.”
Mitchell sighed. “So likely, if all goes well, we end up with one or two more points of armour. Seems like a lot of effort for a minor increase.”
Dalton laughed. “Of course you would think so! But imagine that 20% boost provided to every single one of the Legion’s troops? Imagine crafting weapons that did 20% more damage? That could turn the tide of a battle, even a war.”
The Patriarch hummed as he thought. That would be a significant advantage, though he still felt like he was missing something. “So what happens when an item moves up to the next tier?”
“It… becomes a different item. There’s no such thing as an E-grade iron breastplate - no matter what a craftsman does, iron is still as hard as iron can be. However, it is possible to end up with such a botched crafting that your item goes down a tier. Poorly forged steel can still end up as F-rank armour. However, strike such occurrences from your mind - it’s only possible with C-grade or higher craftsmen, and they are in high demand so you are incredibly unlikely to find one available for hire.”
Mitchell nodded. He had a lot to think about. “Alright. Tommen, I want you to find someone to continue with paper once Theodore moves on to clothing. Kyla, can you make sure that he has what he needs for that? We can invest some experience into it if we must.”
“Sure, after I find someone to make us a proper filing cabinet.” She replied, waving at the strewn papers about the room.
Mitchell frowned. This - along with the equipment John kept requesting, the construction materials he needed, the fine instruments Miri and Sarah wanted... He supposed it was finally time. With a few adjustments to the immigration page, Mitchell once again placed all their bets on a single purpose, and would only be receiving two immigrants out of it.
“Alright, find someone for the paper starting tomorrow. I’ve put this off long enough. Gonna lose so much money…” Mitchell muttered the last to himself.
However, compared to when they had first started building and recruiting for Old Mill Town, these two immigrants had a massive amount of experience sunk into them.
<hr>
The next morning, a pair of short, heavily built men strolled down the path, clay jugs in hand and singing a merry tune, the words of which were unintelligible to the guards at the gate. Behind the two was a cart being pulled by a donkey, and the cart was laden with bits and scraps of metal, barrels, and a blocky shape underneath an oilcloth.
The two men were not men, on further inspection. They were dwarves, and they were the first non-human immigrants to Old Milltown.
“Allo Me-m-mo-Messieurs! Bon-jour to you!” One called out, and the two sank into giggles. The taller (though just barely) one stepped forward and knocked on the wall with a chisel hammer he pulled from his belt. “Open zis door, if you please kindly!”
The two were also roaring drunk.